


Shelter from the Storm

by airamcg



Series: the things we lost and the things we found [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Flashbacks, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Head Girl Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Missing Scene, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romantic Friendship, Slice of Life, well mostly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 09:56:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13679373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airamcg/pseuds/airamcg
Summary: Hermione and Luna, at different points during their shared Seventh Year, help each other deal with what they went through during the war.





	Shelter from the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the same continuity as [Snapshots in Serendipity](http://archiveofourown.org/works/970216), but reading it isn't necessary for understanding this story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione, on the first day of her Seventh Year.

**Hiraeth**

_(n.) a homesickness for a home which you cannot return to;_

_the nostalgia, yearning, or grief for the lost places of your past_

  

* * *

 

 

Just past the barrier to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Hermione stood frozen, gazing up in awe at the scarlet steam engine as if seeing it for the first time. It was still the same train she had ridden to and from Hogwarts Castle for the past six years, still the same cars surrounded by families bidding each other farewell. But something was off about the whole scene in front of her that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, and it was causing a heaviness in her chest that she couldn’t explain. It took some prodding from Ron before she moved out of the way, but even then, her eyes did not leave the Hogwarts Express.

“Are you _really_ sure about this, ‘Mione?” asked Ron, peering sideways at her awestruck expression as Harry stumbled through the barrier behind him. “You know you don’t have to.”

A few months ago, Headmistress McGonagall had offered to include the three of them to the graduating class roster, stating that their achievements during their year away from school could definitely count as NEWT-level credit. The boys had taken up the offer, no questions asked. Hermione, on the other hand, had politely declined and had expressed her desire to finish school properly. The boys had stared at her then as if she had gone barking mad, and had made it their mission to convince her to do otherwise.

They weren’t very successful.

“I am absolutely sure, _Ronald._ How many times must I say it?” Hermione finally tore away her gaze from the train to look crossly at Ron, who suddenly turned sheepish at the use of his first name. Then they both lurched forward when Harry clapped them hard on the shoulders and squeezed them all together in an impromptu group hug.

“No fighting, kiddies. Not yet, anyway. We’ve got a long year ahead of us,” said Harry, grinning from ear to ear. No doubt he was excited at the prospect of starting work. Both he and Ron had just finished Auror initiation the week before and were about to start as Junior Officers the next day. He turned to Hermione, a serious expression on his face. “Hermione, are you sure you—”

“Honestly, you two!” Hermione huffed and pulled away from them, crossing her arms over her chest and stomping a foot down. “I am _going_ and that’s _final!”_

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “…I was just going to ask if you’re sure you didn’t leave anything at home. “ He chuckled and seemed hard pressed to stop himself from outright guffawing. “Glad to see we’re finally getting to you.”

“Oh shut up.” Hermione rolled her eyes at them, although she was smiling. She gathered her things, which comprised of only her school trunk, since she left Crookshanks to keep her parents company. The train whistled a warning toot, five minutes to departure, as she magicked her trunk through the closest carriage door. Then she turned around to face Harry and Ron again, her smile turning wistful as they huddled together in a small circle. “Well… This is it, then.”

Harry was the first to hug her goodbye.

“You know,” he whispered conspiratorially in her ear, “you can still ask McGonagall for that exemption when the exams get too tough. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

Hermione laughed and swatted him away. “Are you implying I can’t handle NEWT studies, Potter?”

“‘Course he’s not,” said Ron, taking his turn to hug her. “He’s just saying you can’t study as well without our help.”

“Right. What ever shall I do without you boys?” She laughed again.

As if on cue, the train whistle rang out a second time, signaling departure. Hermione hugged each of them one more time before stepping into the train.

“I’m going to miss you two,” she said, waving at them from an open window as the train creaked forward. “Good luck with work!”

“You too. Have a good term!”

“Bye, ‘Mione!”

She continued to wave at them as they grew smaller and farther away, stopping only when the train made a turn and she could no longer see the platform. She pushed her trunk into the corridor, much like how she did in the years before, but there was a tremor in her bones that she couldn’t explain. It was childish, really, to feel nervous and giddy on the first day of school, and she was long past being a child. Even if she was starting September without her best friends for the first time in seven years, it wasn’t as if she couldn’t function without them. It was a little lonely, yes, but Hermione Granger was nothing if not an independent woman.

She paused and momentarily searched her pockets, fishing out a shield-shaped badge. Reverently, she brushed her thumb over its smooth red and gold finish. Head Girl, it said. The greatest honor and responsibility bestowed upon the best of the school. She still couldn’t believe it, but the name engraved on its back was unmistakably hers. Smiling, she pinned it on her blouse and continued down the corridor.

It was strange to be on the Hogwarts Express and not recognize anyone, especially since it was supposed to be Hermione’s final school year. But the students of her year had already graduated that June, and even while she noticed some familiar faces among the younger students, they seemed drastically different than from what she remembered of them. Demelza Robins sported numerous scars crisscrossing her face. Dennis Creevey seemed perpetually ragged with a haunted look burned into his eyes. Astoria Greengrass was softer, kinder towards non-Slytherins, especially the Muggleborns. The rest of the train was much too quiet, with far fewer students than usual on board; and the cacophony of classmates meeting friends was subdued, as if there was a lack of excitement about returning to Hogwarts.

Hermione clutched at her chest, her heart feeling even heavier.

She stopped at the door across the Prefects’ Compartment. It was where she was supposed to meet with the Head Boy, presumably to discuss some matters before relaying them to the rest of the prefects. Her hand drifted to the door handle, gripping tightly until her knuckles turned white. But she didn’t move to slide it open. Not yet. She took her time re-centering herself with a couple of deep, almost meditative breaths. It wasn’t as if she was nervous, no, of course not. But beyond that door, she would no longer be ‘just Hermione’, but rather ‘Hermione the Head Girl’, and she didn’t want to be caught off-guard by the Head Boy (whoever he was).

If she had a second to think about it, she might have found some humor in her trembling, sweaty hands. After all, she had faced Snatchers, Bellatrix Lestrange, and even Voldemort himself. She had never wavered then, and yet the prospect of meeting this partner…

She shook her head out of that train of thought. She was being ridiculous, she knew, and there was no point in delaying the inevitable.

She wrenched the door open.

“Oh,” said an airy, not-quite-startled voice. “Hello, Hermione.”

Luna Lovegood was sitting by the window, dressed in her usual—that was to say, unusual by normal standards—fashion. She was wearing denim boots splattered with pastel colored paints, a flowy red skirt with little embroidered flowers, and a royal blue and mustard yellow flannel blouse. On her head sat the eagle hat she once wore to a Quidditch game, and the glittery Spectrospecs over her eyes made her seem owlish. She eyed Hermione curiously over the Quibbler back issue she was reading.

“Luna, why are you— This is the Head Boy and Girl’s Compartment—“ Hermione paused, eyebrows furrowing as she focused at the blue and bronze badge proudly pinned on the other girl’s chest. “—and you’re Head Girl, so of course you should be here,” she finished lamely, her gaze still not leaving the badge.

“You’ve got one too, I see,” commented Luna, beaming toothily. “Congratulations!”

 _“You’re_ Head Girl,” Hermione repeated in disbelief, before forcing herself to look away. “That’s, um, that’s great!”

“Yes. You said that already,” said Luna in a decidedly not-sarcastic way that only she could pull off. She put away her magazine and walked up to the older girl, her protuberant eyebrows pinching together in concern. “Are you quite all right? Did the Wrackspurts get to you?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean—“ Hermione massaged her forehead between the eyebrows. “How come there are _two_ of us?”

“Arcturus Harper was supposed to be Head Boy for our year.” Luna gently took Hermione’s hand away from her face, their fingers interlacing automatically. “He died in the Battle.”

“Oh.”

Luna had said it in her usual matter-of-fact tone, as if it was a simple remark about the weather, but there it was— the reason for the heaviness growing inside Hermione’s chest: Hogwarts was the site of the last and greatest battle of the latest Wizarding War. To have been there at that time, running and fighting for dear life, surrounded by blood, death, and destruction… Sure, Voldemort was gone and his Death Eaters were either scattered or dead, but all the efforts to rebuild were not enough to repair the damage they had left behind.

Especially not the damage to the hearts and minds of the people. Some losses could never be regained.

“Anyway, I believe it wouldn’t be fair to you to not be Head Girl,” said Luna, her eyes sparkling as she gave Hermione her widest grin.

Hermione blushed.

“I-I haven’t congratulated you properly yet, have I?” she said, turning their interlocked hands into an odd handshake. “Congratulations on being Head Girl, Luna. It’s a great honor and you deserve it.”

“Thank you, Hermione. And likewise.” With one last shake, Luna let go. She returned to her seat and gestured for Hermione to sit beside her.  “Your parents must be very proud.”

“So must your father,” said Hermione, opting to take the seat across the younger girl.

Luna nodded enthusiastically. “Daddy was terribly pleased when I showed him the badge. He promised me another Crumple-Horned Snorkack trip once everything settles down.” She gave Hermione another of her trademark smiles, but it soon faded as her gaze wistfully lingered at the copy of the Quibbler in her lap. “But that might be years from now. He… Daddy wasn’t quite the same since the war.”

Hermione stared at Luna, but the person she saw wasn’t the quirky little Ravenclaw she had first met all those years ago. Instead, she saw the gaunt and clammy girl who had never lost her smile, even after months of captivity and torture under Malfoy Manor. Instead, she saw the brave young woman who had fought by her side, and had held her ground against the best of Voldemort’s followers.

Hermione moved to sit beside Luna, close enough for their shoulders to brush.

“None of us are.”

*

It was surprising—and not so surprising—to see that the horseless carriages waiting at the gates were no longer horseless. The creatures pulling them were certainly horse-like, however, despite their draconic faces, skeletal frames, and leathery wings stretching almost twice their length. A sizeable number of the students were freaking out over being able to see them. Some shook and shrieked, others cried, and some others cowered behind their friends.

Hermione wasn’t among the panicking students, of course. She knew what the creatures were. She’d read all about them. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t keep a safe and wary distance from them, if she could help it.

But Luna... She easily approached one of the creatures, lightly patting it on the head.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” she whispered, full of awe. She beckoned at Hermione. “C’mon. They don’t bite. Thestrals are rather gentle.”

Following her friend's example, Hermione stretched out a hand to the one nearest her, but hesitated before she could touch it. Sensing this, Luna brushed her free hand over the back of Hermione’s outstretched one, gently encouraging her until her fingers touched the creature’s muzzle. Its skin felt leathery, but soft and there was a surprising amount of give. Soon, Hermione found herself petting the Thestral in earnest while Luna went around the other students, calming them down enough to approach the carriages.

Hermione had ridden on a Thestral before, when they had flown across the country to storm the Ministry in her fifth year. That had been one of the most terrifying experiences in her life, especially because the creatures had been invisible to her back then. She may have read about all them, but all the illustrations and detailed descriptions could never prepare her for the experience of seeing these creatures in the flesh.

They were only visible to those who were no longer innocent to death.

“You’ve always been able to see them?” Hermione asked Luna at some point in their carriage ride to the castle.

Luna nodded, her expression wilting into a fragile shell of a smile.

“I saw my mother die when I was nine,” she simply replied.

Hermione couldn’t imagine what that was like. Both of her parents were alive and well, probably in the sitting room of their home at that very moment, watching television or balancing books or entertaining Crookshanks, for all she knew. They were alive and well, and yet she felt she’d lost them all the same.

Nothing was the same after the war.

The two Head Girls alighted near the main entrance with the rest of the students, but hung around at the back of the crowd. Hermione watched Luna pat the Thestrals goodbye before Hagrid herded them away, the fragile smile never leaving the younger woman’s face.

Thestrals were only visible to those who were no longer innocent to death... And now, almost everyone could see them.

“Under normal circumstances, witnessing death isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” said Luna once she was back beside Hermione. “It just gives one a sense of urgency, you know? After all, we only have one life. And despite all hardships, we can still flourish.” She tilted her head to the side as one of her feet scuffed the ground.

Hermione looked down.

There was nothing of interest on the ground, at first glance. Just a patch of lawn on what used to be a stone path towards the castle. But despite the dim lighting, Hermione could make out the streaks of blackened earth, scorch marks from deflected curses. Even the school grounds were left with scars from the battle, hiding just underneath the newly grown grass, and even all the magic in the world couldn’t simply make it all go away. 

They walked in silence, both too lost in their thoughts to initiate conversation. Soon, they reached the castle’s main entrance and found it deserted. Everyone else seemed to be already inside the castle, so they rushed in through the open doors.

Hermione froze at the Entrance Hall, immediately noticing how everything seemed the same as all the years she’d been there before— the thick wooden rafters that crossed the high ceiling, the marble staircase that led to the upper floors, even the broom closet off to the side where she’d once hid with Harry in their third year.

But the Great Hall was a different story. Normally, it would have been a place of celebration—Halloween, Christmas, and end-of-year feasts—but even with the festive decorations currently adorning it, all she could see was Fred’s smile. Remus and Tonks holding hands. Lavender Brown. Colin Creevey. So many friends, acquaintances, and strangers carefully arranged along the wall.

All dead.

“Hermione?” said a voice that sounded a lot like Luna, but seemed so far away. “Hermione, are you all right?”

Hermione jumped when she felt something touch her arm. “Sorry, Luna. I was just…” She tried to smile, but it only felt wooden on her face. “Everything seems so different now.”

“It’s still Hogwarts.”

“I know. But everything’s changed.” Hermione shook her head. “No, maybe I’m the one who’s changed.” She heaved out a sigh, staring at the scene in front of her to try and see past the specters haunting her thoughts.

A familiar heaviness pressed against her chest again, but this time, she started to have difficulty breathing. A cold shiver coursed down her spine as she slowly lost herself in another flashback.

Something slipped into her hand. It felt warm, and solid, and real. She held on to it like a lifeline, the surety of it wrapping around her hand slowly bringing her back to the present.

It was Luna’s hand.

Hermione turned her head towards the younger woman, but Luna remained looking ahead into the Great Hall. In the space between them, their hands moved until they were pressed palm against palm, fingers filling the gaps between fingers.

“It’s still Hogwarts, and we’re still here, Hermione,” said Luna, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, grounding her to reality. “We may not be the same people we used to be, but we’re still here.”

Hermione brought her gaze forward, to the lively crowd of students chattering excitedly about the start of the school year.

Hogwarts may no longer be the home she had known in years long passed, but it was still home.

Giving Luna a gentle squeeze in return, the two of them stepped into the Great Hall, hand in hand.

 

 

 


End file.
